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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980007">Technological</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibbledoo/pseuds/Bibbledoo'>Bibbledoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Big Hero 6 (2014), Danny Phantom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chronic Illness, College, College AU, M/M, Romance, Trans Male Character, spoonie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:41:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibbledoo/pseuds/Bibbledoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Attending the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology is Danny's dream, and he's achieved it. But maybe there's more to dream schools than juggling classes, inventing, and a litany of health issues. Maybe there's space in that dream for love, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny Fenton &amp; Cass Hamada, Danny Fenton &amp; Fred | Fredzilla, Danny Fenton &amp; Honey Lemon, Danny Fenton &amp; Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton &amp; Tucker Foley &amp; Sam Manson, Danny Fenton &amp; Valerie Gray, Danny Fenton/Tadashi Hamada, Jack Fenton/Maddie Fenton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic has been keeping me going for a while. Wanted to finish the first five chapters before publishing so people could have more material than just chapter one to judge. I've found out I quite like writing romance...<br/>Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It's definitely been fun and cathartic to write.<br/>Note: author themself is chronically ill although not with exactly what Danny has in this fic. So please please please @ my abled/healthy readers remember that chronic pain and chronic illness is a very... fluid experience and think over your words before talking. Please.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Even though it’s hot at the San Fransokyo airport, I can’t take off my jacket. Even if the flight attendant assigned to me wasn’t wheeling me so fast my hands are stuck to the armrest and I'm stuck praying that neither I nor my cane fall off, I have a backpack on and taking it off is a hassle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is anyone waiting for you?” the flight attendant asks. I slither off the airport wheelchair and steady myself with my cane before grabbing my bags and shaking my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ll just take a taxi. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a good day.” The flight attendant runs off, probably catching another plane or another DPNA request. I sigh and readjust my bag before taking my phone out of my pocket and ordering a ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver stares at me, a quick judgmental glare of my cane and I gulp and smile and try to load my bags into the backseat without taking too much time. The drive is tense and I play with the ghost stickers on my cane. I pay the driver and leave the car a few blocks early once the driver’s glare gets under my skin and struggle to handle my bags without losing my balance. Then I see it and the frustration and embarrassment melts into nothingness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall gates of the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology are open like a portal to another world. I try to walk so fast I almost trip over and take a moment to steady myself. The courtyard is grassy and bright, with people who aren’t in class at the moment walking around or sitting talking to each other casually. The doors in the front of the main building are automatic, washing me with relief. The wonder dissipates the moment my movement causes pain to travel up my legs, taking all the air out of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The airplane wasn’t kind to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hobbling over to the stairs leading to the doors, I sit and exhale deeply. I lean on the wall and open my map again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, where are the dorms?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you lost?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I yelp at the voice and whip my face around to look at a tall guy behind me. He’s black and wearing a green loose knit sweater and a matching headlack to push his dreadlocks out of his face. His smile is amicable and I shuffle around to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did the bags give it away?” I joke. He shrugs. “I’m actually looking for my dorm. Uh, here,” I flip the map to its back and point to where I wrote down my dorm number. His eyes widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re my new roommate!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” I use the stairs’ handrail to push myself up to a standing position and offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Damon.” He cringes, startling me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did I do wrong?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m sorry, did I deadname you or something?” He blinks and then shakes his head, embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, that’s— that’s my name.” He scratches his neck. “I’m just so used to everyone calling me by my nickname that unless I’m at the doctor’s office or something I never hear it. Call me Wasabi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay.” I extend my hand again. “Nice meeting you, Wasabi. I’m Danny Fenton, your new roommate.” He shakes my hand and looks at my bags. “Can you help me find our dorm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing! It’s actually on the other side of campus. Do you want help with your bags?” His eyes linger on the cane and I grip the handrail a little tighter. I want to say no, but I’m so exhausted after the airport that I smile gratefully nod instead. “Okay then, Danny, let’s go.” He lifts the bigger of my bags like it’s nothing and, once we reach the bottom step, starts rolling it along. I trail behind him taking in the view. I’m only taken out of my fascination by the sharp, stabbing pain that accompanies each step. Wasabi stops walking and turns to look at me. “Are you okay?” he asks. I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jet lagged,” I half-lie, and continue walking. He tries to match my pace so I can keep up and I mutter a thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our room is on the second floor and we use the elevator to get there. Wasabi keeps his side of the room neat and put away, something I’m deeply grateful for as it means I can get around the room without tripping over random books and laundry. He sets my bag by my bed and pats it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stay so I can show you the robotics lab afterwards?” The question catches me off guard. I bite my lip while I think. On one hand, I’m exhausted and I can feel my knees and ankles swelling from the trip. But turning him down sounds immensely awkward, and I should see the lab now instead of later… I can feel Sam yelling at me from Amity as I respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please.” I organize things quickly, putting my notebooks on my desk and putting my sheets on the bed (not as neatly at Wasabi, but it does the job). I keep my medication in my bag and put the posters and pictures on my desk rather than on the wall. Even if I weren’t keeping Wasabi waiting for me, there’s no way I can get on my knees and keep my arms raised for long enough to put up all the pictures. I stuff my clothes into the drawer under the bed and feel Wasabi’s desperation at my messy job crawling up my back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just for now, I promise I’ll organize it later.” I straighten my back and grab my NASA backpack and cane. I squeeze my cane with a white-kuckled grip to keep myself from crying out in pain with each step. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too late to back out now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The robotics building is large and modern with the glass walls and glorious white stairs leading up to the doors. I frown. “Hey, uh, where’s the ramp?” Wasabi freezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the little walkway over there also leads to the building.” He trails off and I bite my tongue. A small bit of dread climbs up my throat and I push it down to follow him. I try to hurry up the stairs and lean on the cane way too hard once I reach the top. Still, the lab is nice, with high walls and testing areas and desks for each person. I spot my desk by the fact it’s barren and nod to myself. Wasabi is still talking about each section of the lab and where his table is in case I need him when my pain suddenly spikes and I tumble. It’s bad enough to make me nauseous and I cover my mouth. “Hey, are you okay?” I breathe deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah,” I lie poorly. “I just need a moment. Thanks for showing me around.” I don’t even think about asking him where I get my ID. Just as I leave the front doors, I clip shoulders with someone. The impact makes me see stars. Once my vision clears, I’m faced with a tall person in a cap and thin sweater. I nod at him before limping off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not such a great first day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, I find where I can get my ID and my photo looks like I crawled out of hell: hair out of place, tired eyes and lips in a tight line. I ask for directions to the Disability Services Office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady there is kind, with crow’s feet around her gray eyes and a long sleeved pink dress. Her silvering hair is in a loose ponytail and she smiles politely between every sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember your email and phone call! You’re Fenton,” she says. “I emailed your professors, but remember you have to talk to them yourself about the actual accommodations. Thank you for checking. How are you finding campus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I consider mentioning the ramp problem, but decide that’s for another day and shrug with a blank smile. “It’s good, people are really friendly. My roommate showed me around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Wasabi,” she laughs and I stare at her. He wasn’t kidding when he said everyone calls him that. “Okay, well, pleasure to meet you Danny. May you enjoy being part of the SFIT family.” I thank her and make the trek back to my dorm. I mean to organize my clothes and maybe take medicine but the moment I sit on the mattress to catch my breath my body gives out on me. I crumple on top of the mattress, shoes and backpack and all, and close my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone vibrating and flashing wakes me up, and I accept the call without checking the number first. Without the flashing light, the room plunges into an awkward evening darkness, red shadows dancing along the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” I slur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t answer your messages, so I figured you were sleeping,” comes the response. I roll my eyes slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Jazz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s the place?” I consider telling her about my swelling and exhaustion, but hold back. If I tell her, she’ll tell Mom and Dad and Sam and Tucker and then I’ll be on the phone with everyone until midnight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” I shrug even though she can’t see it. “I’m jet-lagged and tired from the airport, but from what I saw campus is nice. A little inaccessible though, so that’s a downer. My roommate is really friendly though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait for it to show up on the news you fought the person who built SFIT a hundred years ago to talk about ramps, doors, and stuff like that,” Jazz jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never, little bro. It’s around six over there, so please go ahead and eat something. Take your meds, sleep, drink water… not in that order.” I snort at her rambling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mom</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to put her on the phone? Because I will, and then you’ll beg for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, please. Fine, I’ll eat and stuff, just don’t put her on the phone yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye aye. Okay, bye. If you haven’t eaten when I text you in an hour I’m telling Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the worst. Love you. Bye.” I hang up and stare at the dark ceiling. I can feel my knees throbbing and curse at myself. Might have to miss class tomorrow already. “Dumbass,” I mumble, and then get up. I make my way to the bathroom (an in-dorm one, an accommodation that was luckily possible) with slow and unsteady steps and check my knees. I brush my fingers over them, wincing at the sharp pain the light touch causes. They’re warm to the touch, too. Just my luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I buy food and water at the cafeteria and limp back to my dorm room. I turn on the desk light and nibble on my food slowly. I rummage through my bag and take all my medication before Wasabi can come back and see the huge pill organizer. Once I finish my food and text Jazz, I start the ultimate task: showering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process is grueling, but by the time I get out of the bathroom in my boxers, shirt, and compression socks, Wasabi still isn’t back. He’s probably with friends or has a night class. I crawl into bed and sift through my bag to find the compression bandages and pain relief patches. After covering all the surface area of my knees, I plop back and work my way under the covers. My alarm is set and I write notes in my symptom tracker app about my knees and campus. I set it to charge next to my pillow and doze off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone shakes my shoulder, making it hurt. I open my eyes to see Wasabi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ate, right? You could find the cafeteria?” His genuine caring warms my heart enough to stop me from grumbling that he woke me up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” I mumble sleepily, and check my phone. As if on cue, it flashes and vibrates with a message from Jazz and Sam. I answer them, say goodnight to them and Wasabi, and close my eyes again, feeling heavier than ever. Probably the strong medication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully the pain relief numbs me enough I don’t wake up throughout the night.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm moderating comments because that way if any ableism, unsolicited health advice, homophobia, transphobia, or racism tries to get through I can stop it before it reaches and harms my audience. I care deeply about my readers.<br/>Also, I'm a high school art gay going to an art school writing stem gays at an institute of technology, so please, college students and/or stem gays suspend your disbelief, I'm really trying.<br/>Love y'all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>My alarm rings right next to my ear, unbearably loud for me yet most likely out of Wasabi’s earshot. I bring my phone to my face, unplug it from the charger, and turn off the alarm before it can drive me crazy. I move to get up and instantly scream into the pillow before taking a few deep breaths and hissing through my teeth to keep myself from screaming more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least I didn’t wake up throughout the night, even though I feel sweaty. I fling my sheets off of me and turn on my phone’s flashlight. I keep glancing over to make sure I’m not waking Wasabi up as I work on taking off the bandages and the pain relief patches. My knees are still visibly swollen. Luckily, though, they’re not warm to the touch. They do hurt like hell if I put any pressure on it with my fingers though, so I leave them alone. Surely I can walk to the lecture, I’ll be sitting most of the time, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab my cane and shuffle around for my sleeve braces and clothing. I have to sit on the toilet lid to brush my teeth and manage the shower from the shower floor, but the task is done. I make sure the newly put on pain relief patches aren’t accidentally ripped off by the knee sleeves, put on my compression socks, boxers, and binder, and then the rest of my clothes. I’m looking through my bag trying to see how to make it lighter when Wasabi’s alarm rings. I hurriedly shove my pill organizer back in and stare as he turns off his alarm and sits up to stretch. We lock eyes and he gives me a sleepy wave. I give him a thumbs-up gesture in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know where your class is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The robotics building I think? Professor Callaghan’s class,” I answer. He nods to himself and yawns again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll text my friend Tadashi so you can go with him. My first class is on the other side of campus so I can’t help you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Wasabi. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” he replies. Wasabi turns on the light on his side of the room and gets up. Once he’s in the bathroom, I finish organizing my bag. I look at my cane and then inside my bag. I slide my cane to rest under the bed and take out my foldable cane from my bag. I double check my pill organizer, pain patches, phone, water bottle, notebook and pen, and Spooky the Owl are all in there before nodding to myself and closing the NASA backpack. I’m making sure the NASA and star stickers on my foldable cane are still smoothly on when Wasabi steps out already changed into his clothes for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We walk to the cafeteria and while Wasabi buys a bowl of fruit I take a granola bar out of my bag. After the nauseating pain from last night I’m not sure I can eat anything heavy. He gives me a look but eats his bowl of fruit. I down my vitamins and morning medications while he checks his phone. I’m playing with the wrist strap of my cane when Wasabi looks up and waves, startling me. I peer over where he is waving and see a tall guy walking towards us. He has a backpack slung over one shoulder, a cap, and what seems to be a cup of coffee. His face is vaguely familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny, this is Tadashi; Dashi, this is my new roommate Danny,” Wasabi introduces us. We nod at each other. “You two have today’s morning class together, so I’ll be on my way to my Engineering class. See you two later!” I remind myself to thank him again as he walks off, clearly wanting to be early to his class. Tadashi takes a long sip of his steaming cup and smiles at me. I get up slowly and grip my cane. He seems a little startled by it, but brushes it off and he tries to walk at a pace I can keep up with. His legs are still long, making me have to work a little to keep up with him perfectly, but we manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Tadashi,” I say. I grip my bag tighter with my free hand and work my way around the small crowd of hungry college students.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you too. I think I saw you yesterday when you were leaving the lab, actually. You okay?” I swallow my dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I was just super jet-lagged, you know how it is.” From the way his laugh sounds, Tadashi hasn’t experienced jet lag recently. Lucky. “Hey, so class started a few weeks ago and since we’re in the same class— do you take notes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, after class can I see them and take a picture or something? I don’t want to fall horribly behind.” In the morning sun, his smile radiates warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, Danny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Class starts in a few minutes, so I walk up to Professor Callaghan’s desk, already dreading the interaction. Last time we talked he’d been slightly condescending about the cane and with the day I had yesterday I don’t really want to hear it. Still, I personally have to remind him about accommodations. School policy. Yuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning Professor,” I say, gripping my cane with a white-knuckled grip. He looks me up and down and nods, telling me to keep talking. “I’m your new student, Danny Fenton. I want to know when is the best time to talk to you about the accommodations I will need in your class?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me take out my notepad so you can tell me right now,” he says. “You might have to email me, though. I’m a little forgetful.” The smile doesn’t reach his eyes and I swallow dryly. “Let me tell you what you need to do for this class. Attendance is part of the grade. You are allowed up to three absences with a doctor’s note. I can give extensions up to a week, and I allow my students to record audio of the lectures. However, you can’t take pictures. No food or water in my classroom.” I wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, I do need water and breaks,” I begin, somehow managing to grip my cane tighter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t have to go into detail about your symptoms</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I remind myself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I’ll ask if I ever have to take a picture of the board since writing can be painful. Also only three absences? Didn’t Disability Services tell you I need to be allowed absences?” Professor Callaghan pinches the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Fenton, as I told you when we first met, if you find yourself struggling with something as simple as attendance, maybe not taking this course would be in your best interest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t lash out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I understand, but this course is compulsory for my major. Just remember that I am allowed accommodations and if you have a problem with that you can bring it up to Disability Services yourself.” He doesn’t answer, realizing this isn’t something we can really fight on right now, and I squirm where I stand. “It is a pleasure to be in your class. I am looking forward to this semester, Professor.” I make my way to a desk in the third row so Professor Callaghan can’t see me as easily. I sigh deeply and fold my cane and shove it in my bag. I take out my water, notebook, pen, and phone. My bag is on my lap so I can rub my fingers against Spooky discreetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again,” a voice says. I turn to see Tadashi giving me an awkward smile. “Also, nice cane, I didn’t know some could fold like that.” Although I’m not in the mood to humor him, I still manage a tired smile and click my pen. The lecture begins and my knees start throbbing. I bite my lip and keep writing. The lecture finishes and I see Callaghan’s mouth move, talking about applying the knowledge. I nod blankly while he talks. Someone touches my shoulder, snapping me out of the fog for a few seconds before it clouds me again. “Hey, want to review with me? Professor Callaghan always gives ten minutes to ask each other questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” I feel myself say. I grab my water and take a few long gulps, willing the dull, throbbing ache in my wrist from not taking a break during note-taking to go away. Luckily, it’s not shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I understand about half of what Tadashi says and when he asks for my number, I hand him my Contacts screen. I’m extending my cane when he taps my shoulder to give me my phone back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale,” he says, and I make a so-so gesture. “I’ll text you pictures of my notes. Sorry in advance for my handwriting.” Instead of replying, I show him the last paragraph of my notes. He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Okay, not so sorry about my handwriting.” Even through the cloud of pain and what might be my blood sugar dropping, I laugh. He stays seated after we’re dismissed and I wave him goodbye with my free hand before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m walking slowly, wondering whether I should go to the library or back to my dorm when I bump into a giant lizard. I yelp and it raises its hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a suit! This is not my real face or body,” it reassures, and I sway where I stand as it opens its mouth all the way to reveal a six-foot-tall blond with an easy smile and half-lidded eyes. “Anyway, I’m on my way to second breakfast. Want to join me?” I blink. That could mean food, which might help my blood sugar…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets me walk first and matches my pace perfectly, setting me at ease. He closes the mascot’s mouth and folds his arms behind him as he walks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Fred,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny.” He looks at me and then grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, my friend Wasabi has a new roommate named Danny.” I feel some heat reach my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He already talked about me?” I ask. The grapevine in this university is impressive and terrifying. I haven’t even mentioned him by name to my family. “W-what has he said?” Fred gestures for me to turn left and follows me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing really, just that you’re his new roommate.” I sigh in relief. “And that you snore, sleepwalk, and speak Latin in your sleep. I’m kidding. He just talked about how you were exhausted yesterday so he didn’t really get a chance to know you. Just stuff, you know?” Fred leads me outside of campus and around a few blocks, checking that my cane doesn’t get stuck on anything. “We’re going to the best café in the entire city. It’s on me this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what? You really don’t have to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>compadre</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That means your house is my house in German.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s really… not,” I say, but he pays me no mind. We cross the street and he points to a small building with a waving lucky cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This,” he says, opening the door for me with an enthusiastic gesture, “is the Lucky Cat Café. Literally the best thing in the world.” I raise my brow but step in anyway. He takes me right through the morning crowd to the bar stools and looks at the warm display thinking about what he wants. A short woman behind the counter sees him and smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred! Second breakfast?” she asks. He wriggles his right arm out of his suit to give her a thumbs up. “Let me guess: coffee and a quiche?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bet!” I tune them out to look at the small blackboard-esque menu on the wall and the warmed up display. After I find something I find appetizing, I nod to myself and gesture to grab her attention. The woman turns to face me and I see her name tag says “Cass”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A butter croissant and a large hot chocolate please, for here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Danny, he’s with me,” Fred says. Cass nods and turns to get our stuff ready. Fred sits on the counter, wriggles out the suit so its mouth hangs around his waist, and makes sure he’s not knocking my cane over in the process. I’d fold it, but I’m tired and want it readily available, so I don’t. “Nice stickers,” he says. “You’re a NASA fan? Ooh, are you gonna be like, an astro… uh… space physics person?” I snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not aiming to be an astrophysicist. I’m studying to be a biomedical engineer. Mostly to make inventions that will help doctors work faster and make sick people’s lives easier.” I hold my cane and turn it gently in my hands, looking at the stickers. I swallow the lump in my throat and give Fred what feels like the worst fake smile of my life. “I do love space, though.” Before I can contemplate astronomy for much longer, Cass walks up to us holding small ceramic plates with cherry blossoms painted on it with our food. She hands Fred a small dark teacup with coffee and places a large steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me. I thank her and she just winks at me before handling the next order. While I wait for the hot chocolate to cool I sink my teeth into the butter croissant and revel in the flaky crunch of the pastry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s great, isn’t it?” Fred asks with a mouth full of quiche. I nod and nibble on my food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you studying? At SFIT?” I ask. Fred shakes his head and swallows his mouthful of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a student, just an awesome mascot.” He smiles proudly. “By day and by night. I’m committed to the role.” He takes a long gulp of his coffee. I finish my croissant and wipe my fingers on my pants. I blow on my hot chocolate to cool it down a little more and then sip it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bliss consumes me. It’s smooth and slightly thick and creamy and just the right amount of sweet. There’s probably cinnamon and the chocolate taste is sharp, yet the milk tones it down just enough I don’t feel it’s just molten chocolate. I close my eyes and take a breath, forgetting all about my fatigue and pain just a second. Fred is staring at me with a hue grin, pleased with my reaction. I beam back and take several gulps of hot chocolate. The only reason I stop is to breathe. The steam’s warmth remains on my face, a phantom comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s wonderful,” I say. I twist my cane until it’s securely in between my legs so I can hold the mug with both hands. With how tired I’ve been I wouldn’t be surprised if I started having tremors, and I don’t want to waste a single drop of his heavenly drink. I take a few more sips before putting it back on the counter and flexing my fingers. My right hand still hurts and will probably ache for the rest of the day, but a pain patch might help. I finish my hot chocolate and clench my jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey dude, you okay?” Fred startles me out of my planning and I turn my head so fast it disorients me for a moment. For some reason, I don’t feel tempted to completely lie to Fred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kind of tired myself out yesterday and then again in class, so I’m just in a little pain right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like it sucks,” he says. “Is there anything I can do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m taken aback by the question. Then with a shrug, “I mean, I’ll be fine if I just try not to overdo it.” Fred nods and gestures to the menu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want anything else to eat? I know it’s not like, a painkiller or something but if you want more hot chocolate or a smoothie or a sandwich to take with you for later I’d be glad to pay for it.” I think over it and sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure you’re fine with it. Um. A turkey sandwich would be nice.” I feel my cheeks heat up. I hate asking for things, but I don’t want Fred to feel like I’m blowing him off. He gives me a thumbs up and calls for Cass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A turkey sandwich, two chocolate chip cookies, and uh… gosh, which one is Honey Lemon’s favorite again? Strawberry smoothie? All of that to go, please, and the bill.” Cass smiles and gets it ready for us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks again,” I mumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, anything to help a bro. So, want to exchange numbers or something?” Fred nods at Cass and hands her some cash and slides a paper bag and warm cardboard cup in my direction before taking out his phone. Cass shakes her head fondly at Fred and takes our plates and cups. I put my number in Fred’s surprisingly fancy phone and hand it back to him. It goes into a mystery pocket under the suit and then he puts the suit back on and takes the cup as well as one of the cookies out of the paper bag.  He gestures for us to go and I grab my things to walk next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We make it back to campus and he gestures in the direction of the lab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to go to the lab? I’m dropping off a smoothie for my friend.” I gauge how much pressure I can put on my legs and make a so-so gesture. “If you want, I’ll walk with you to the dorm building.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, but thanks. See you around, Fred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll message you later!” he promises before walking off in the direction of the robotics lab. I roll my tense shoulders and make my way to the dorms. Once I get there, I gingerly put down the hot chocolate and paper bag. I fold my cane and put it and my bag on top of my desk chair and check the time on my phone. It’s not noon yet, so I kick off my shoes and lay on top of the bed. My phone buzzes and I groan loudly. I lay on my side and turn on the screen to see Sam wants to video chat with me. I accept the call and make myself comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s sitting in her room as well, hair in her usual style and makeup on. From what I can see, she has a dark colored flannel shirt on with a black tank top under it. She’s smiling until she sees my face and that I’m laying down. Her concerned frown makes me scratch my neck before I wince and put my hand back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You overdid it, didn’t you?” She runs her hand through her hair, messing up her bangs in the process, and sighs deeply. “Will you go to your afternoon class?” I avoid looking at the screen. “Okay, that’s… do you have class tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I want to go to the lab. I haven’t even sat at my desk there yet.” She makes an </span>
  <em>
    <span>I guess</span>
  </em>
  <span> gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s it been? We didn’t get to talk yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My roommate is nice, I think I made a friend, and I guess I have a study buddy now. Callaghan still sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. What happened this time?” I explain the situation to her and she rolls her eyes. “Some people… So, your roommate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasabi— don’t make that face, everyone knows him by his nickname— is all right, he showed me around campus and let me know I can always ask him stuff. I also met the school mascot, well, the guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> the suit. His name is Fred and he’s probably the best person in this city.” I scratch my neck. “Tadashi from my robotics class is going to lend me his notes and I’m really grateful for that. How’re things on your end?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Outside of worrying about your dumb ass? Things are good, I think our next project is field work.” Sam beams and talks about how the forest near Amity is full of some plants she wants to put in the greenhouse to study further. I nod along. Suddenly, she stops talking. “Hey, we’ve been talking for twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and?” I shuffle in bed to rest against the pillows in a poor imitation of sitting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should probably take a nap before your afternoon class.” She brings the screen (and by extension, the camera) closer to her face. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been army crawling everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, you also look absolutely gorgeous.” She sticks her tongue out and waves goodbye before hanging up on me. I set an alarm and try to get comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes pass and I feel too awake to sleep but too tired to really move. I groan and turn around to face the desk. The cup of hot chocolate is still there, as are the pictures and posters I had thrown there yesterday. I sit up and grumble to myself before standing up and breathing through my teeth with every step until I reach the posters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes some effort, but soon all the pictures are with me on the bed and I’m on my knees. A terrible decision from all angles, but here I am anyway. I grab the tape and sticky pads, take a deep breath, and start sticking things on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My NASA and the Kennedy Space Center posters are on the further end of my bed. Some space themed wall stickers connect the posters to my photos. There’s no particular order outside of the photo of me with my family and Sam and Tucker from about six months ago, which is closest to my bed where I can see it when I wake up. I smile at it and then get off my knees. They give off an audible crack and pop once I move. I drink my hot chocolate that is still warm somehow. Once I finish it, I take my bag off the desk chair and put it on the desk itself, then scoot myself over to the storage under my bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a while and a lot of cradling my wrists, but the drawer is finally organized enough that I won’t have to go on an excavation when I want to get dressed. I look at the time on my phone. It’s almost one and I sigh deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I eat the sandwich and cookie Fred bought me, then put my empty cup inside the paper bag and take my regular cane. The foldable one is still in my bag just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After throwing away the bag outside and making circles around campus looking for my next class, I finally find it. A wave of people leave the room and just as I’m about to walk in, someone taps my shoulder. I turn to see Tadashi and smile awkwardly. He waves before disappearing from my sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor is a short and stout woman with brown skin, graying hair, and a cheery disposition. She nods along with the accommodations I mention until I get to the absences. Her smile is replaced with a worried expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dearie, if you didn’t feel well you didn’t have to come today.” I look away and rub my arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really want to fall behind, so I try not to be absent unless I really need it.” She presses her lips into a fine line, then nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but if you feel you need to leave early, I really won’t hold it against you.” My eyes burn and my vision is a little blurry as I thank her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with my exhaustion and struggling to take any notes, Health Science might become my favorite class. Professor Jimenez speaks slowly and clearly, writes large, and has a bare bones bullet point summary on her website. Not enough to replace paying attention in class, but a good refresher of basic information. I thank her again before leaving her class with lifted spirits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone buzzes and I open it up as I walk back to my dorm to see Tadashi sent me pictures of his notes. I reply and put my phone away once I get to my room and see Wasabi studying at his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” I say. He startles then turns to face me and puts his hand over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scared me! Anyway, how was your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love Professor Jimenez,” I respond. Wasabi smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Tadashi’s said she’s a nice lady. Want to grab dinner with me after I finish reviewing this?” I shake my head and hold back a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a long day, I’ll just shower and go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so. By the way, thank you for organizing your things. Messes make me extremely nervous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” I make a mental note to try my best to keep my side of the room organized. I hook my backpack by the straps to the back of my chair and bend down to find my pajamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shower is heavenly. All the tension of the day leaves me when the warm water is on me and I take a minute to just lean against the shower wall. I put on my clothes and take my medication as well as some painkillers before getting Spooky out of the backpack and holding her close. I’m excited to see the lab tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m somewhat drowsy at the cafeteria in the morning. I look over the notes Tadashi sent me as I eat, and then I head to the lab. I find my table quickly as it’s pretty much barren and set up my things. I put my blueprints in my drawer and set my tools out and organize them after making sure their grips are well secured. I attach a small hook of sorts to “hold” my cane while I work so it doesn’t fall, and put some pain patches in the drawer as well. I adjust the lamp on the desk to point exactly at the middle of the surface and drape the lab coat Mom gave me over the back of the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite not doing much outside of basic organization, I feel drained, so I lean on the table and take some deep breaths. I take out my phone and look at the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>9:05 A.M.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I really should have slept the day away. I force myself to sit up and look for the metal plates I’ll need so I can do the heavy work of lifting things today and spare myself the agony later. I pray my knees don’t buckle while I drag some medium sized boxes of metal, silicone, and wires to my table. I’m already regretting trying to do so much. It’s a little too late to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span> though since I have these boxes at my desk and it’ll look like I’m hoarding them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few stiff movements later, I have enough for at least a small prototype in order to finish the conceptualization part of the process. I take a few steps and kick the box with whichever leg hurts less, take a break, kick it again gently, stop for a few seconds, and continue the process until the materials are kind of back in place. There’s no way I can lift the boxes right now. I turn around meaning to take my bag and go back to my dorm when I realize a girl has been staring at me the whole time. She’s about my height and chewing gum. Her leather jacket makes her look imposing. I tense and wave at her. She simply pops her gum and raises an eyebrow at me. I feel my heart race and the beat become more irregular. I need to calm down before I pass out. I leave the lab in a rush, still feeling the girl’s eyes on me. It makes me shudder and makes taking a nap or just sleeping all day seem impossible even once I’m on my bed with Spooky in my arms. My phone rests in my hands and my eyes linger on the family photos on the wall. I unlock my phone, go to contacts, and press “call Mom”.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The phone is picked up on the second ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny, sweetie!” Mom’s voice is ecstatic through the phone. I feel bad for delaying calling her. “How are you? How’s class? Was the lab good? Everything fine? How’s your pain? Have you been taking your m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, shifting to sit with my legs crossed. “Just wanted to call you since it’s been long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really has,” she says. “Want me to put your father on the phone too? We’re both here. We’ve been worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put the phone on speaker, I want to hear you both.” The call’s audio instantly becomes more crackly, but I don’t mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny-boy!” Dad booms, and I can imagine his smile from his tone alone. “How’s my little scientist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” I shrug. “It’s been exhausting but not impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the Fenton spirit!” I can’t understand what Mom whispers because the phone call is too crackly, but Dad continues. “The Fenton spirit is also knowing your limits and not overdoing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because it’s not impossible doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take breaks,” Mom’s voice chimes in. I squirm uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” I squeeze Spooky closer to me and set my phone on speaker as well so I don’t have to keep holding it. “How are you two doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you father and I were doing some light cleaning just before you called. Just some dusting and sweeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetie, you don’t sound well. Are you sure you’re okay?” I lay down and put my cell phone next to my head. I close my eyes and frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first few weeks will probably be hard but I’ll settle into it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you able to get your accommodations?” Dad asks. “I know it can be hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I checked in with Disability Services. I already talked to two of my professors. One was better than the other about it, but I’ll manage. My dorm room has a private bathroom, so that’s also resolved.” I squeeze one of Spooky’s wings. “Might have to get a shower seat, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your blood pressure okay? Have you been able to walk? I looked at the campus map and the place is really big.” I stop. I haven’t checked it at all even though flights usually mess me up. If I say that, Mom will start getting all worried about it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My pressure’s fine. I’m resting today since I don’t have class, so everything should be good. Campus is a little big, yeah, but none of my classes happen too close to each other so I can rest in between if I need to.” My parents are silent for a little. I take that moment to catch my breath. Even though I’m laying down, I still feel bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How have you been eating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, all right I guess. Yesterday I went to a café with a new friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See Mads? Already making friends, a Fenton at heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack, we’re on speaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right. Sorry.” I chuckle at the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, the café near SFIT makes really good hot chocolate. When you visit I’m taking you there. It’s like, liquid fudge or something.” The sound of Dad clapping against his lap makes its way through the phone, letting me know he’s excited at the thought. “Hey, is it okay to call you later? I’m a little tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! You can call us any time,” Mom says. She blows me a kiss over the phone. “Take care of yourself, okay? We love you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Mom. And Dad. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, son!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I end the call, take off my binder, and curl into myself tighter. Calling them calmed me down, but now that nothing is on my mind, the pain seems louder, almost. I kick off my shoes and bring the pillow closer to me. Without really thinking about it, I take a picture of myself holding Spooky and send it into the group chat I have with Sam and Tuck. Tucker replies almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: he’s alive! And he has the owl. He also looks like absolute shit. Dude, u good?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes and tell him I’m fine before chucking the phone to the other side of the bed and falling asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I wake up, the sky is bright even through the blinds. I check the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>2:10 P.M.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not hungry, especially considering the nausea swimming through me, so I try to settle again into my bed. I roll over and the pain spikes and all air leaves me. I fall off the bed and squeeze Spooky close to me. “Shit, shit, shit.” I move to sit up and instantly fall back down, slamming my head on the floor in the process. Still, I force myself to reach upwards with my arm (when did it start shaking?) and grab my phone blindly. I look at my contacts list and stop. Who the hell am I going to call? Mom and Dad? Sam, Tuck, Jazz? Valerie? They’re all across the country in a different time zone. The closest person is probably Kwan and he’s in a whole other city. I look at the contacts saved under “recent” and gulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up on the first ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, could you call later? I’m helping my aunt right now and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please help me.” Some shuffling makes its way through the line and then all background noise disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you take… doctor?” I try to get in a position that expands the ribs. It doesn’t help much. “BP drop, I think… dorm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh damn. Okay, I’ll be there. Make sure your door is unlocked so I can— Aunt Cass I need— I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up. I grab my cane where it rests next to the bed and put my phone in my pocket. My fingers are shaky, but I still manage to make it so I’m close and easily visible from the doorway. I slip my shoes on sloppily and don’t bother trying to tie them. All I can do now is wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like forever, but soon enough my door is flung open and Tadashi stands there, staring at me. “You’re really pale,” he says, mostly to himself. “Come on, let’s get you down. My aunt is taking us to the hospital.” He grabs me by the waist and hooks my arm around his shoulders. I keep tripping over nothing, but soon enough we’re out of the dorms building and near the entrance of SFIT where a woman is leaning on her car looking stressed. Tadashi waves with his free hand holding Spooky and she waves back and flings open the back door of her car. I recognize her as Cass from the Lucky Cat Café and she seems to recognize me as well before shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts and helping me into the back seat. Tadashi sits next to me and helps me buckle in. I struggle to keep my eyes open as we drive. Tadashi keeps talking to me and to his aunt until we arrive at the ER and while Cass looks for parking, Tadashi leads me into the ER. The place is a lot more sleek and modern than the hospitals I’ve been to in my home state— the only place almost as fancy is the one in New York my uncle took me to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tadashi helps me fill in the paperwork and stares as I’m dropped into a hospital wheelchair and wheeled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About forty minutes later, I’m hooked up to an IV and heart monitor, a fancy type I’ve never seen before, simply a bulky wrist band with a screen on it. I puff my cheeks and stare at the abnormal rhythm of the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the door opens, I’m expecting a nurse and don’t look up until I hear the semi-polite cough and flick my gaze up to make eye contact with Tadashi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stayed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he replies. “I want to make sure you’re okay. And return your owl.” He sits on the chair next to mine, places Spooky in my lap gently, and stares at the IV with furrowed eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll let me go once it’s empty,” I answer. I kick my legs slightly and sigh. “Thanks for taking me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to thank me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still.” I look at the one-quarter-full IV bag. “Sorry to take you from helping your aunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My little brother took over for a little, we survived. And so did you, thankfully.” He smiles at me with slight concern.  My eyes burn and I use my hand with the heart monitor bracelet to wipe my face. “Oh,” Tadashi says, panicked. “Are you okay? Is something hurting? Should I call a n—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I answer. I lay my hand with the IV on top of Spooky, a cold comfort. “It’s okay, I’m just stressed.” My arms plop onto my thighs once I lose the strength to hold them up. “You can go now, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Aunt Cass is going to pick me up, so we may as well give you a ride too. Don’t say we don’t have to.” I deflate slightly and give a weak smile. The IV empties after ten minutes and the nurses let Tadashi and I go. I pull down my sleeves and grab my cane with the stronger of my hands. Not that that’s saying much: the cane still wobbles when I pick it up and I struggle to support my weight with it. Tadashi notices, unfortunately. Once we get in the car, he nudges me and leans closer. “Hey, the dorms are kind of far and you should rest up. You can stay at the café until you’re doing better.” I’m too fatigued to disagree, so I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lucky Cat Café is still busy even though it’s late in the afternoon. Cass and Tadashi guide me towards a back table and then slip into place behind the counter, making a small boy smile with relief and run behind the shop. It clicks in they probably also live here, not that there’s much to do with that information. I lay my head on the table and let my eyes glaze over as I watch people move. The peace lasts until my cane clatters to the floor and I move too fast for comfort to pick it up and place it between my legs. Even though the movement was small, the suddenness of it makes me dizzy and I have to place effort to not fall off the chair. I use Spooky as a sort of pillow and breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand shakes my shoulders, waking me up from my light sleeping. It’s dark out now, and the café lights are the only thing keeping my corner from plunging into darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need a ride to the dorm?” I try to shake my head, but it’s too heavy and weighs me down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom is going to freak out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m taking you. How do you feel about mopeds?” I push myself up with my heavy, limp arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t hold you,” I say. “I’ll walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, can’t let you do that. Here, try to walk to that table.” He points to a table not that far away, but I can’t even stand up without falling back onto my chair. I feel my face heat up. I thought I was too tired for embarrassment, but I thought wrong. Tadashi crouches with an ease I envy to be eye level with me. “Let me help.” I sigh. “Do you want Wasabi to pick you up instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told him.” My voice is too fatigued for much inflection. Tadashi gives me a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. What else would I do?” I don’t answer. “Okay, I’m going to call Wasabi now. He’s finishing up his exercise routine, I think.” I tune out the phone call and hold my arms close to myself. Everyone’s going to panic when I tell them. If I tell them? No, Mom and Dad will find out, better I just tell them. I groan and Tadashi runs over to me. “Are you in pain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I lie. It’s ignorable with how much the fatigue is weighing me down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasabi arrives. I don’t know when or how, but he’s in front of me offering me my cane. I wave Tadashi goodbye and let Wasabi guide me to the car. I stare ahead at nothing through the windshield and then we’re in the dorm. I’m blinking slowly at the ceiling from my bed in shorts and the same shirt I was already in on top of the sheets with Spooky on top of my chest. Wasabi is sitting on my desk chair and clearly nervous. I glance at him and he straightens up. I give a thumbs up with the hand closest to him and close my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right then,” he says. “But we seriously need to talk about this tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Trust me, you’re only the </span>
  </em>
  <span>first</span>
  <em>
    <span> one I have to talk to tomorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll admit I can't really speak for what it's like to have family that cares for you without being passive aggressive and hinting or accusing you of faking your pain and symptoms to get out of things so if Jack and Maddie seem to harsh or too doting, parents are people too and I'm a sad ill gay.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s probably already noon when I wake up, and Wasabi is there on my chair, dressed and frowning with his elbows on his knees. I wiggle up until my head is better hoisted up by the pillow and turn to face him fully. Spooky falls off my chest and plops next to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what the heck happened yesterday?” Wasabi crosses his arms to make it clear it wasn’t just a question, it was a demand for an explanation. I sigh deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a chronic condition,” I say. He gives me a look of needing further explanation. “That’s it. I have a chronic condition and had an emergency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> fit into a conversation? And I didn’t expect something to happen so soon.” I push myself into a sitting position. “Wasabi, I really don’t have to tell you more than that.” I glare at him until he seems to soak in that bit of information and looks down shamefully. Sam would be proud if she wasn’t going to kill me once the news reached her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry. I just kind of panicked yesterday when I heard what happened.” I shrug and mumble something between an apology and understanding. “Do you need anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep. And water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And food,” he adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t need that today. I do need some privacy though since I’m going to call some people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. I’ll just go and get you some water.” Once Wasabi leaves, I see my phone was put to charge overnight. Probably by Wasabi. I make a mental note to thank him. With a shaking hand I press </span>
  <em>
    <span>Call Mom</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks up on the first ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey sweetie! I was—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Her voice is laced with panic and I hear a chair scraping against the floor. “Did something happen? Are you okay? Sweetie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda? Um, I think I forgot to drink water or didn’t have enough salt. My BP dropped hard and a classmate had to take me to the hospital. I’m better now.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t freak out please don’t freak out please don’t f— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Her tone barely counts as calm, a clear mixture of anger and panic bubbling underneath. I clear my throat and try again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went to the hospital yesterday because my BP dropped hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew this was a bad idea,” she starts, and I bring myself to sit up and glare at the sheets. “All the way across the country. We can’t reach you in time if something like this happens again. Maybe you should take Valeri’s suggestion and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, stop. I can make my own decisions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A week on the other side of the country without us and you forget to take care of yourself and have an emergency.” She’s fuming, her voice rising slightly with every word. “What if your roommate wasn’t there? No one would have heard you! At home we’re even close to a clinic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My roommate wasn’t there, actually. I called someone to pick me up and they arrived quickly and took me to the nearest hospital. I can handle myself in an emergency. I’ve been doing it for years now.” Mom takes a deep breath and her voice is strained when she responds, as if speaking through her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny, you could faint and fall unconscious with no one to help you.” I fall silent at that. “Danny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, Mom.” I ball up the edge of the sheets in my hand. “I know it’s hard, but I can’t be taken care of forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting your father on the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” A few seconds pass and the phone crackles back to life. Rather than his typical boisterous tone I’m greeted with the deep </span>
  <em>
    <span>not mad</span>
  </em>
  <span> sigh that hurts to listen to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, son.” I hated that tone. The same tone that bleeds into everyone’s voice when my health plummets and they’re already thinking of the grimmest possible future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Dad.” A tense silence floats between us. “Do you think I should come home, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t keep my mouth shut for anything, can I?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny,” he begins. The uncertainty makes his voice shake. “I know you want to be independent but maybe moving so far away wasn’t a good choice? You can still come home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mother of all bullets reaches me through the phone: “we’re worried about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t stop you. We know how much science means to you, but there are other schools, </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span> schools, or even like your friend Sam you can take classes online—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Dad, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I try not to raise my voice. I don’t know how thin these walls are. I’d rather not test the speed of gossip around here. “I’ll set reminders again like I used to, so I can drink water. What can I do for you two to feel better about this whole thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone is passed along to Mom. “Stay safe,” she says. “We’ll call you once a week— once a day, and you better be honest or so help me, Daniel Fenton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” The scolding makes my confidence shrink until I hunch over with the hand holding my phone becoming clammy. “I’ll do that. Please, give me a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Danny.” Her voice is soft and heavy with emotion. “Take care, okay? We need you to be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” I mumble. “How long do I have until Jazz hears about this?” Mom forces out a little laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An hour tops. Bye, sweetie. I love you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too Mom. And Dad.” I hear Mom’s voice faintly through the phone relaying my message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too Danny-boy!” Dad booms. He’s not even close to the phone and yet I still keep my cell phone at a distance to save my ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you most. Take care.” And with that, Mom hangs up the phone and I’m alone in my dorm. The solitude lasts about three minutes until Wasabi comes in with a large water bottle. Really large. The only reason I recognize it as a bottle and not a jug is the cap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The corner store sells these gallon bottles to keep for people who don’t trust the tap.” Wasabi pats it and places it on my desk. “I hope this is enough.” I blink at it in awe because how am I going to lift that thing? Still, I smile at Wasabi and mouth a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone flashes and I see a text from Sam. I gulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need me to go?” Wasabi asks. I feel bad for basically kicking him out of his own dorm, but this is a little too personal for roommate, so I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I had an emergency yesterday. Call me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone rings immediately. Trust Sam to be right there. I pick up after taking a few seconds to calm myself down and brace myself for the talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened? Are you okay now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BP drop, mostly. I probably didn’t drink enough water or didn’t eat enough salt—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or did too much at once. We talked about this. Pacing, Danny.” Heat rushes to my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, okay! I bit off more than I can chew, I get it. I can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…Your parents want you to come home?” Intuitive people are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They never really wanted me to leave. It’s just all a mess. I know I’ll be fine. It's just that the first few weeks of school are hectic for everyone, including me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for freaking out, it’s just…” Sam sighs. “It scares me, thinking something could happen to you with no one available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But I’m fine. I called a classmate to take me to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already making new friends? Wow, replaced me and Tuck really quickly. I’m hurt.” Just like that, we’re just two friends talking about college, lighthearted and fun. Our chat warms my heart as Sam rambles on and makes jokes. “I started actually using that scented candle you bought me. It’s really good.” I laugh and then yawn. “Maybe you should sleep? Rest up a little.” I make a noise of agreement and she hangs up with a “love you, nerd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I text Wasabi that he can come back in and immediately, he’s sitting at his desk studying. I use all of my remaining strength to pick up the jug and drink without spilling everything and before I know it, I’m back asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasabi has to wake me up to drink more water and eat some dinner. I wash up slightly and go right back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sam and Tucker walk in front of me arguing about something. Maybe meat versus veggies, maybe about women in horror movies. I don’t remember. I keep walking slower and slower even through my efforts to catch up, trying my hardest to breathe, whispering hoarsely </span>
  </em>
  <span>wait for me, wait for me, guys</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Everything is numb. I crumple on the floor and start coughing. Everything burns and aches and every little movement sends ice and fire up my nerves. I can’t breathe. Sam and Tucker finally turn around and I see them scream my name. Tucker takes out his phone and starts pacing back and forth, staring at me every few seconds. Sam’s fingers are on my wrist. My legs are resting on hers and she’s biting her nails.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up with a start and instantly reach for my throat as I take deep breaths. I’m covered in a cold sweat and trembling. I reach for Spooky and press her to my chest as I breathe deep, deep, deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” I mumble. At least I think I do. Everything is too loud and too quiet, a white noise right at the eardrums. I move my limbs one by one to assure myself that I am indeed fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I should rest again today. Walk a little just to keep the blood flowing but otherwise just lay down and take it easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone’s agenda pings and I bring it to my face, squinting through the blurriness of unshed tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be kidding me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callaghan’s class starts in half an hour.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't worry fellas, the nightmare will make sense in the future. Also I love Sam.<br/>Love y'all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On one hand, I had an emergency two days ago. I’m drained. My parents will kill me if I do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callaghan will kill me if I don't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can make up with my parents, unless something else happens. Disability Services can only do so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only have one body and one life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is this so hard? It’s yes or no, and class is only getting closer and closer on the clock. I don’t think he’ll let me leave halfway. Can he write me up for falling asleep after the first twenty minutes? It’s attendance, not participation, at least that I’m aware of…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Mom.” I brace myself to stand up. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a large struggle of changing without showering to save energy and time, almost spilling water all over myself trying to pour half of that jug into my water bottle, and almost falling over even with my cane on the way to class several times, I find myself in the classroom a little before the bell. Callaghan types in something— hopefully attendance. I scan the class and see Tadashi has an empty seat next to him. I make my way over and prop my cane against the table, put out a notebook, and put my hands on my lap. Tadashi looks at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he whispers as Callaghan starts writing on the board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Attendance is part of the grade. I can’t miss this,” I whisper back, staring at Callaghan and hoping he doesn’t turn around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything goes in one ear and out the other. My eyes start drooping at some point. I use my hands to keep my head up and squint at the board. I should take notes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My right hand is completely numb. Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>numb</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s throbbing in a dull way that would hurt if it weren’t more annoying than painful. Still, I can’t even pretend to hold a pencil with my hand like that. And if I put the pencil in my left hand, then my right arm would be trying to support my slowly getting heavier by the second head. In my peripheral, I see Tadashi writing something in the corner of my notebook. I let him finish before pretending I just noticed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, I’ll just send you my notes. You should be resting. So just drink water (helps BP) and don’t worry about the lesson, just focus on taking care</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to glance at him and he gives me a small smile with a bashful shrug. He’s back to writing notes as soon as I blink. By the time Professor Callaghan turns around to face the class again, I’m holding my thermos with shaky fingers and a heavy arm and sipping carefully. He seems to make eye contact with me and sighs before turning back to the board and scrawling while talking. I spend the rest of the lesson drinking water and staring at the people in front of me as they type or write. I push the straw back in and close the bottle to put it in my bag as the lecture seems to wrap up. The problem hits me at that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t really grab with my right hand and my left hand is shaking too hard to get a steady grip. I bite my lip. Still, I try to zip up my bag and fail spectacularly. Not even a week into college and closing a bag is already too much for me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I will my hand to go from shaking violently to trembling for a few seconds just to zip my bag. I sit on my hands and pray for the twitching and throbbing and tremors to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lesson finishes and Tadashi takes pictures of his notes, glancing up every few seconds to make sure Callaghan doesn’t see him. My phone buzzes a minute later and I mouth a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him. He rubs his arm awkwardly and mumbles a </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re welcome</span>
  </em>
  <span> in my general direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class ends and Tadashi wishes me well. The sentiment helps me keep the grip on my cane until I leave the lecture hall, and then I reach one of the little park benches SFIT scatters around where there’s enough grass and weeds to look like a bench should be there and collapse onto it. I flex my fingers and see my entire left arm tremble under the effort and my right hand’s stiffness. I hook my cane in between my thighs and put my bag on my side to let my right arm rest. Despite the pain and anxiety, the sun is warm on my face and I smile to myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny my man, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Fred without costume for the first time makes it hard to recognize him. I see now that he wears baggy clothes and worn sneakers. He’s holding a thick book under his arm and waving at me until he’s directly in front of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing much, just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d ask if you want to come to the Lucky Cat, but it doesn’t look like you can make the walk. Want me to bring you something?” He puts the book down next to me as if I’ve already agreed to be in his company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—But I want to,” he says. “One, second breakfast is more fun with a friend and HL is in class, and two, you look awful.” He holds up four fingers. “Three, Wasabi freaked out about the ER thing and I know that after being in the hospital all I want is some good food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And four…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I just wanted to hold out four fingers. It looks more dramatic like that. Anyway, I’ll be back with a croissant and some drinks. Keep my book safe please, I have a test on that thing in two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gone before I can object, waving to everyone on his way out of my eyesight. Everyone waves back, either knowing him or feeling awkward not responding. I look at the book title. </span>
  <em>
    <span>PIcture of Dorian Gray</span>
  </em>
  <span> stares back at me. I smile fondly at it. Sam used to talk about nothing but Oscar Wilde for about two months. The shaking in my left arm calms down into a small quivering with the occasional twitch of all my fingers, like a dying insect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only my arm is thankfully still alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred comes back relatively quickly with two decorated parchment paper bags of food and two cups. He sits next to me and passes my bag and cup to me. I stare at it for a little and try my hands again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My right hand hurts to move. My left hand probably can’t grip much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not hungry?” Fred asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that,” I mumble. I brush off the embarrassment. “I thought you weren’t a student?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a student at SFIT,” Fred clarifies. “I’m an English major online. Lecture halls and chemistry just aren’t my thing. Or you cyborg studies, which sounds cool but just isn’t for me.” Fred takes a huge bite of a cheese sandwich and pulls so the melted cheese drip everywhere. It’s gross but mouthwatering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, cool.” I look at the grass on the other side of the loose path between buildings. “I can tell you a little about the book if you want help studying. One of my best friends was obsessed with Oscar Wilde.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, dude, but thanks.” He licks his fingers and wipes them on his pants before using a napkin for his hands and face. “Besides, HL also loves Oscar Wilde and helped me understand parts of the book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HL?” He turns to me with a gaping expression, then blows on his drink (smells like green tea) while still locking eyes with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t met Honey Lemon yet? She’s so cool, hang on. I’m waiting outside her class and then dragging her here you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to meet her dude.” Fred explains in disorganized sentences who Honey Lemon is: a chem major and his bestie. Also apparently tall, pretty, and bold. And loves smoothies. I nod along and, once the strength returns to my left hand, eat the croissant sloppily. Fred doesn’t seem to mind, which is comforting. Fred leaves to meet up with her and I crumple up my paper bag and place it under my leg. I look at the cup of hot chocolate with longing until an idea comes up. I carefully open my thermos, drink the last gulps of water, shake out the excess, and pour the hot chocolate into the thermos. I set the empty cup next to me, close the thermos, and start sipping. Yup, still heavenly. “There he is! C’mon, you have to meet him.” Fred and a tall blonde stand before me. “Danny, Honey Lemon. Honey Lemon, Danny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honey Lemon is indeed tall, and also wearing platforms, making her even taller. She has leggings and a lively dress, too, as well as a purse. Her green eyes sparkle with excitement. What gets me is her glasses and hairdo. Maybe I’m just weird, but long, loose, straight, light colored hair with a headband immediately makes me think of Jazz and that’s it now. This girl in front of me is just California Jazz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Danny!” Honey Lemon’s voice has a small Spanish accent. “I’m Cami, everyone calls me Honey Lemon or HL though, courtesy of Freddie.” Fred smiles proudly at his nickname handiwork. I smile and nod. I can’t lift my right arm yet and my left hand is busy holding the thermos. Honey Lemon pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and hums to herself. “I’d love to chat more, but I have a study group to get to, so see you later! Fred, give him my number. Nice meeting you, Danny! Love you both!” She manages to run in platforms off to the Library.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d I say? Isn’t she amazing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I part ways with Fred soon after and make it back to my dorm. I sit at my desk rather than on the bed so I can walk to and from the bathroom without getting stuck laying down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone buzzes and flashes and I see Jazz wants to video chat with me. I frown. She’s usually a text or call kind of person. I accept the call and set the phone up against my thermos. She has her glasses on, thin black frames, and her face is a little puffy. Did she sleep with her contacts on? Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing a black loose knit sweater over a baby blue button-down. Her headband is a little high on her head as if she kept pushing it back and back while studying and little strands of hair are radiating off her. She’s staring at me without earbuds in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wish I had mine on in case this gets loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey Jazzy,” I start. She glares at me and pushes her glasses up her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey is a little too nonchalant.” Jazz crosses her arms. “Seriously, the ER?” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam and Mom and Dad already grilled me over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is after a day of cooling down, so remember that.” Her nostrils flare a little and she sighs deeply. “Listen Danny, you need to make sure to look after yourself. I know college is stressful and rigorous but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it. Mom and Dad gave me their blessing, stop lecturing me.” She pauses and pushes her headband back even more. Now it’s probably hanging off of her hair and tangling it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry, I just. Ugh.” Jazz taps her fingers on her clavicle. “That was so scary, you know? All the way across the country and something happened to you.” The tapping turns to practically drumming, harder and faster. “I’m glad you were able to handle it and took care but. Danny it’s terrifying to think something could happen to you again and we wouldn’t see you until days later.” Jazz takes a moment to breathe and someone mumbles. She whips her head off to the side. “Yeah Amina, we’re fine, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi Amina!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He says hi.” Jazz’s roommate says something. “Amina says hi back. Anyway, don’t change the subject Danny, can you promise me that won’t happen again?” I give her a deadpan stare. “Take preventative measures at least?” she corrects herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll try. I think I’m forming a small support group already. Nothing like you guys but it’s still support.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. So, little brother,” she says, visibly less stressed. “How’s school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good roommate, good roommate’s friends, one good professor so far.” I shrug awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your pain? Any numbness?” Instead of responding verbally, I raise my arms. My left arm’s tremors are smaller, but my right arm still hangs something stiffly from the elbow down. Jazz taps her clavicle again and frowns. “Okay, you need to rest. Put a patch on that right arm, eat, drink water, take your meds, sleep. I don’t care if it's not even one yet over there, you need to rest up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then I’ll get all stiff and sore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do some stretches then.” Jazz stares off-camera again with a pout. “I’m not being harsh, Amina; he’s always like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amina she’s bullying me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m gonna hang up now.” Amina pops up behind Jazz and waves at me. She gives Jazz little rabbit ears and Jazz turns to face her. “I can see that on the screen, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Danny!” Amina grins at me. “Your health very important, okay? I tell Jasmine not to bully you.” She winks at me and waves again before leaving the camera’s view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, bye little brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye sis.” I pause. “Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love me too. And you.” She laughs at her own joke and hangs up. I put my phone down and drink more water, go to the bathroom, and come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred sends me Honey Lemon’s number, but I don’t have the energy or willpower to open the message, respond, add the contact with her name, and then send Honey Lemon a message or even have a text conversation with her, so I swipe to delete the notification and put my head down on my desk. I watch little specks of dust float around in the little bit of sunlight peeking in through the blinds. I tune out the world to focus on it and then, before I know it, I’m asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up with a pain in my neck and a little more energy, so I stretch like Jazz said to and wince when I try to soothe my neck. I take a cheap excuse of a shower and coat my right arm all along the tendon in patches to soothe it and one on my neck just to relax it. The sun is still out and I open my phone to text Tucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey dude, sure the news got to you already. I’m fine tho.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I add Honey Lemon to my contacts while I wait for the response. A few minutes later, I get a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: yea i heard. sam sent a lot of texts about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: i’d say you left me for last but if ur planning to tell val. good luck ily.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I freeze at the mention of Valerie.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If she doesn’t know and no one snitches I can live.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: eh… what’s that thing? the truth always comes out?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I type rapidly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay okay, I’ll send an email or something. Buys me time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: she’s gonna kill u</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: still, from what i heard you need to rest</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can everyone stop saying that, I’m good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I add a string of muscle emojis.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: well it’s the truth and ur a macoxjist or something w your health sometimes so.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: *masochist</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>*macoxjist</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuck: :( stop mocking me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I text Tucker a little more about just random things until he needs to go to his night class. I try to keep emailing Val out of my mind but the thought consumes me after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s going to kill me. Still, I write her a short email from my phone, send, and pray she won’t see it for a while. Or maybe it’s better if she sees it now. Valerie hates feeling like people are keeping secrets. I lay my head on the desk again and try to breathe easily. My right arm feels a little better, enough to move my fingers without feeling like everything is on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I read the first page of notes Tadashi sent before the brain fog hits and I leave my phone to charge, drink water, and lay down in my bed. Not to sleep, just to stare at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind wanders to how to prove to my family I’m fine being at college by myself. All I have to do is not go to the ER again and feed myself semi regularly. And answer Mom’s calls. That too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can do this. I’m a Fenton. We thrive on challenges. Yeah, I can do this.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What is being gay if not being terrible at spelling?<br/>Well, that's the first batch of chapters. Please be merciful.<br/>I love you all, and I will see y'all around! xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for putting this on hold for a while. I couldn't write the romance with a chronically ill character... because my own illness was acting up. Almost poetic.<br/>Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Proofreading and updating in the middle of a migraine rn,,,,</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Mom calls me, I put it on speaker and lay it on my chest. The sun is setting, casting long, fuzzy shadows through the blinds onto the ceiling and walls. I focus on outlining every ray of sunlight with my eyes so I don't fall asleep in the middle of the phone call. I reassure Mom that I'm drinking water and laying down and using my cane and taking my meds and vitamins and trying to eat. "I'll set reminders, please stop worrying about it. I'm <em>fine</em>, Mom."</p><p>"Okay," she says quietly.</p><p>"Sorry," I say, and I'm not sure why.</p><p>"It's okay. Make sure to do your work as well. Fentons are hard-working."</p><p>I don't tell her about my hands.</p><p>"I will." Our phone call ends awkwardly and I cover my face in embarrassment. Raising my arms allows me the misfortune of smelling my armpits. "Okay, I need a shower, what the hell."</p><p>I use cold water to wake myself up and choose a loose shirt and worn boxers and compression socks. With some effort, I slip both my hands into wrist braces. My right arm has a pins and needles sensation racing along the entire tendon that switches to sharp pain with movement. I take gulps of my water and sit on my bed. I start doing my work on my laptop, starting with Health Science. So far, it's just basics and it's just discussions and scenarios. I type only with my left hand, and by the time I'm done my left hand is trembling, only stabilized by the brace.</p><p>Callaghan's assignment is more… rigorous. I need to write 500 words on how his rules of robotics apply to what I'm planning to make in the future. I try to blink the blurriness out of my vision and when it doesn't work, I rub my eyes with my right arm and hiss in pain.</p><p>I keep having to stare at the last word I write to remember what the hell I was going to say.</p><p>"Robotics," I mumble to myself. How could I forget something so simple?</p><p>I'm not sure if what I write makes sense, but that's tomorrow's problem when I proofread. I shut off my laptop and lay back down.</p><p>Wasabi enters the dorm room with food. I turn to look at him and he holds out what looks like a sandwich to me. I sit up and smile at him.</p><p>"We haven't really had a chance to actually talk, so I thought we could eat together and just chat," he says. I nod and take the food gratefully. Wasabi moves his lips and I nod blankly before I realize he's asking a question. "What's your major?"</p><p>"Bio… doctor?" Everything is hazy. I can't… "B-bio…" I feel my eyes watering. Wasabi stares at me, stressing me out more. "Doctor… medic. Medic bio." Why can't I remember the word? It's literally my major I—</p><p>"Biomedical engineering?" Wasabi suggests. I wipe my face with my good (well, less worse) arm and mumble a small <em>yeah</em>. "If you want, we can talk some other time. You seem to be a little out of it."</p><p>But I want to talk now. I don't even know his major and it's almost been a week.</p><p>"What's your major?" My tongue feels heavy as I speak.</p><p>"Applied physics," he responds, and it's so damn easy for him. I take a few big bites out of my sandwich.</p><p>"Are you in any clubs?"</p><p>"Tai Chi club." I cock my head. "It helps with posture and stress. I really enjoy it."</p><p>"That's good." We eat in silence for a minute. I flex the fingers in my right hand and shrug uncomfortably. "Sorry."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"We were supposed to chat and I can't even say my major."</p><p>"I get it." <em>No you don't.</em> "One of my cousins can't process language if he's tired." I want to tell him that he doesn't really get it, he doesn't know what it's like to have a brain that gets full of cotton if you do more than five things in a day, but once I have the thought, it just vanishes from my mind.</p><p>I'm too tired to feel upset.</p><p>We finish eating and while Wasabi goes to shower and wash his face and brush his teeth I slump back into my bed.</p><p>When I wake up, I don't feel particularly rested. A glance at my phone tells me it's almost four in the morning. My right arm feels better. Rather than dull, it's just achy if I move it too much and my fingers and grip are just a little weak. My left arm is completely fine.</p><p>I use wet wipes to clean up a little and keep my compression socks on. I put on sweatpants and my binder and a baggy sweater that hides the bulk of the brace.</p><p>Even though it's extremely early, I decide to send a quick text to Honey Lemon letting her know I have her number. That way by the time she sees it I'm already in class and can have more time to respond.</p><p>My phone vibrates in my hand and I expect it to be a text back from Honey Lemon, but it's an email notification. A reply to the email I sent Valerie. I swipe to delete the notification and gulp.</p><p>I do a few stretches from bed and massage my wrist to distract myself. It's not exactly painful, but I do lay back down to relax.</p><p>Hours pass and Wasabi wakes up and gets ready as I organize my bag.</p><p>I pour out some pain medication and jam it into the empty slots in my pill orginizer. Once Wasabi is dressed, I call his attention.</p><p>"I have physics today, can you tell me where that one is?"</p><p>Wasabi gives me the instructions and we head off separate ways. I'm grateful that my hands are functional and I can hold my cane without feeling like I'm going to give out at any second, but I don't test my luck and sit down. While I wait for office hours to begin, I take my meds and study using Tadashi's notes. I don't know what he was talking about with his handwriting; it's neater than mine, Sam's, and Dad's.</p><p>Class is… well, the professor mumbling is draining, but I catch all the information I need and set a reminder for the class discussion assignment. The moment it's done, I find a bench to slump over in and lay down like a discarded rag doll. I close my eyes.</p><p>Then my phone buzzes. I groan and turn it on to see Jazz is asking how I'm doing. How "symptomatic" I am. It's like it still hasn't clicked some symptoms just don't go away. Still, I force myself to be patient and text her back.-</p><p><em>Just nauseous</em>, I text. Jazz types for a long time and just as my phone screen is about to go black she responds with a whole lecture on how tea can help with nausea and inflammation. <em>Okay, I'll buy some tea. Thanks sis</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Jazz: no problem. Love you.</em>
</p><p>And she's offline.</p><p>I stretch my ankles a little before sitting up slowly and stand up so carefully I feel like a tortoise. It takes me a while to get to the Lucky Cat Café and it's at the end of the morning rush, people late to work and people who just want to have a late breakfast outside, and me. Once my turn comes up, I'm facing Tadashi. I forget what I wanted to get and instead smile and wave at him with my right hand. He focuses on the brace for a split second, but returns the smile.</p><p>"Thanks for sending me your notes," I say.</p><p>"You're welcome," he replies. He gestures to the menu behind him. "What would you like?"</p><p>"Oh, right." I squint at the list of teas. "Sakura green tea. For here." I try to take money out of my wallet, but between the wrist brace and needing to support myself to stay upright I end up just dropping money on the counter. "Dammit. Hang on, just a second." The more I hurry, the less I can grip it. My nerves really don't want me to pay. Coming here was a bad decision. Tadashi lays his hand on mine and smiles gently.</p><p>"Take your time. It's okay."</p><p>Usually that phrase sets me off like no other. It has this "you're helpless" tone attached to it every time. Somehow, though, Tadashi's voice and facial expression lacks the undertone. I take a deep breath and slide over the money and dump the rest into my bag. The wallet would take too long. I sit at a table near a wall and give up propping the cane up against the wall, settling for twisting it between my legs. It's uncomfortable on the knees, which are sore to the touch, but I don't even care.</p><p>I'm sending a text to Sam asking her how she's feeling when a steaming cup is placed in front of me. Tadashi turns the cup so I see some writing on it.</p><p>
  <em>Text me later. Wanna know how you're doing.</em>
</p><p>He's already serving another table at the other side of the café when I open my mouth to respond. I shake my head and sip the tea slowly, gripping it with both hands so I don't drop it. Should've asked for a straw. I manage, flexing my fingers in between sips and willing them to stay steady.</p><p>Even drinking tea is exhausting today. I sigh in relief at the knowledge I have no afternoon or evening classes. Then I remember I have to proofread whatever mess I wrote yesterday when the brain fog and fatigue hit and I have to stifle a frustrated grunt.</p><p>I leave the café and run into Honey Lemon on the way to my dorm. I still see a blonde Jazz, although her fashion sense helps me put that idea to the side.</p><p>"Oh, Danny! Sorry I didn't reply to your text. I forgot to take my phone off 'do not disturb' until five minutes ago." She pauses and looks at me. "Hey, are you okay? You look exhausted."</p><p>"I'm sure if I rest I'll be fine. Been at this for years." She gives me a thumbs up. "What's up?" I'm not sure why I ask. I just want to leave and sleep— her company is nice, but I can feel my brain start to lag and my body freak out at staying upright and talking right now.</p><p>"Well, Freddy's going to meet up with me in a few since he says he bought me something. Wanna come with?"</p><p>
  <em>Yeah.</em>
</p><p>"Sorry, I can't right now. Maybe next time." Her face falls slightly before she smiles and nods.</p><p>"Hope you feel better soon!"</p><p>Once she's behind me, I grimace. I'm not sure how I make it to my dorm, but I'm hanging off the bed and staring at the ceiling. I'm still tired, but now I can't nap. I consider forcing myself to work, but I open my phone and text Tadashi instead.</p><p>
  <em>I'm doing okay. Well, I'm a little below my baseline, but I'm gonna *be* fine soon since I'm resting. Thanks for wanting to check up on me.</em>
</p><p>I get a response surprisingly fast.</p><p>
  <em>Tadashi: Glad to hear! Hope resting helps. If you need anything, feel free to text. Cass (my aunt that drove us to the hospital) says hi.</em>
</p><p>I smile to myself and drop my phone next to my pillow before curling up and closing my eyes. Maybe it's a placebo, but the tea works: I'm still sore, but I'm not nauseous at all anymore. I make a mental note to order that more often. And to just go to the café in general— I didn't know food places could feel so genuinely calming.</p><p>I'll study later. For now, I'll just revel in this moment of low pain and good feelings.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Watching the most recent Care Bear gen (Unlock the Magic) and I feel so... rejuvenated. Well, as rejuvenated as I can feel in the middle of a flare.<br/>Hope everyone's staying safe right now. I love y'all.<br/>PS, thank you so much for your patience in between updates. It makes writing this more enjoyable since I don't feel pressured to work until I drop. Seriously I can't explain how much I appreciate my readers for being so understanding. (Sorry for any mistakes I missed while proofreading; I'm a little disoriented rn. If you see any big mistakes, feel free to tell me so I can fix it...)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Online classes really threw a wrench in my plans... (Can't look at screens for too long). At least it's almost over.<br/>Well, here it is! In all its glory.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My peace lasts until I get an email from Disability Services telling me my accommodation notice emails have been sent out to all my professors and that the people at the office wish me a great year. Exiting that email, I'm left with Valerie's reply in my inbox, bold with "unread" marked. I sigh deeply and reposition myself so I can hold it closer to my face. May as well read it now before I exhaust myself with homework.</p><p>
  <em>Re: Bit of an Accident (I'm okay now) [2]</em>
</p><p>Valerie's account icon mocks me: she's smiling in the photo with the sunset shining brightly on her skin. The tone of the email is the complete opposite:</p><p>
  <em>Fenton I'm actually going to kill you. What do you mean "bit of an accident"? That was a direct result of self-neglect. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because it's working; you're lucky I'm in a whole other state or you'd be hearing it from me for real. Better not let it get that bad (or worse!) or I'm straight up gonna call you. Don't care what hour it is or if my roommates hear us or your whole ass dorm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love you to pieces you (extremely stupid) nerd. Call me any time, I miss your stupid voice.</em>
</p><p>"At least she calmed down halfway through," I say absently. I get the laptop and proofread my disaster.</p><p>It's barely coherent, a tangle of ideas that I probably spend longer editing than I did writing. I submit it and work on the physics discussion, reply to people in the Robotics discussion, and type up the parts of Tadashi's notes I think I should study more. I finish relatively early and turn off the laptop. I set my phone to charge and refill my pill organizer. I'd forgotten to in all the commotion, but hey; no time like the present.</p><p>I put the extra "for emergencies" NSAIDs in the "noon" section for Sunday where I always put the medicine I don't take on a schedule. I place the bottles in my desk drawer and drop my organizer in my bag. I take Spooky out and check my phone. A notification pops up telling me Sam replied.</p><p>
  <em>Sam: I'm ok ig? Parents driving me crazy but my grandma's been teaching me about yarn bombing and now she's teaching me how to crochet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>? Yarn bombing?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: essentially fuzzy graffiti on and around things. I wouldn't actually (mostly just because I can't crochet that fast) but like.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: You still draw right?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>...yeah? Not as much but I mean. How else would I do blueprints.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: do me a favor?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Depends. Last time I did you a favor without asking questions I couldn't get the Vaseline out of my hair for a week.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: -_- not my fault you can't follow directions.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: Anyway! Can you draw a city covered in yarn?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe. Idk, what's in it for me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: my beautiful smile.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ok sure just don't expect it anytime soon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sam: ok. My venus flytrap needs to be fed now so bye. ily dork</em>
</p><p>
  <em>ily2</em>
</p><p>"What the hell is she talking about?" I open up a search engine and type in <em>yarn bombing</em>. PIctures of whole trees and benches covered in patterned and designed yarn fill my screen. The more I scroll the more inspired I am. I take out some scrap paper and start drawing.</p><p>It's not as good as before, but it's still decent especially considering my hands aren't exactly behaving today. I send the picture to Sam.</p><p>
  <em>CAM20XX08XX_</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's not that good but it's the best you're getting.</em>
</p><p>I go to the home screen and tap "call". It's early, but if I call Mom now, I can sleep without worrying about missing her call. The picks up after about ten seconds.</p><p>"Sweetie, are you okay? Is everything fine?" Her voice is slightly frantic.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just calling now because I think I might sleep the rest of the afternoon and I don't want to miss our call." I lay down on my side and rest the phone on my cheek. The plastic is somewhat cool to the touch. "How're things?"</p><p>"Your father and I are fine," she says. "I'm just finishing up buying groceries. It's so strange only buying for two after all this time." She hums to herself. "I almost picked up your favorite cereal before I remembered you're all the way in San Fransokyo." I laugh a small, tired wheeze. "Have you had lunch?"</p><p>"That's a good question. I actually don't remember."</p><p>I hear a car start and Mom's voice is a little further away. I'm guessing she's on speaker.</p><p>"Do you have anyone that can bring you something to eat? Can you get up to eat, is there food already in your dorm?"</p><p>The kind of things you don't really think about until you're already at a large school and realize you need a lot more aid than you thought, really.</p><p>"I'm sure I can get something soon. I'm just resting. It's fine."</p><p>"You sound exhausted," she points out. I hear the turn signal <em>click-click-clack</em>-ing.</p><p>"Would you prefer it if I called someone?" The idea makes me uncomfortable, but making Mom even more stressed out sounds objectively worse.</p><p>"If you want to. I just don't want you to wear yourself out while out in the street for example."</p><p>She has a point. I grumble to myself.</p><p>"Okay, I'll see if someone's willing to help me. How's Dad?"</p><p>"He's a little tired," she admits. She hisses at a car that cut in front of her. "I'm making him his favorites tonight since he had a shutdown yesterday."</p><p>"Ouch," I say. "Hope he feels better."</p><p>"Same here." After some casual talk between us, the engine stops and Mom takes the phone off speaker. "I know you just got there, but any friends? I know you mentioned the study notes guy and the guy who took you to the hospital."</p><p>"They're the same guy, actually," I say. My eyelids are heavy. "Tadashi. He's really nice and friendly. Works in that cafe I mentioned? The one with the hot chocolate. I went with Fred, another friend. They're both friends with my roommate too. And Fred introduced me to his best friend Honey Lemon."</p><p>"Well you're popular."</p><p>"For once," I joke. I yawn deeply. "Well, have fun. Love you."</p><p>"Love you more sweetie, take care." Mom hangs up, leaving me to myself. Without the phone call, my breathing sounds unbearably loud. I roll over so the phone plops on the mattress and then I pick it up and text Fred.</p><p>
  <em>Hey. Are you free? Any ideas for lunch?</em>
</p><p>The reply takes about a minute or two, but he types quickly.</p><p>
  <em>Fred: I have an idea</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred: ok so I love the Lucky Cat but I don't think you've seen any other place in SF?</em>
</p><p>I shake my head to myself.</p><p>
  <em>No but uh. I can't really go anywhere right now. Stuck in bed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred: pain?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Kinda? More fatigue than anything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred: ah, I got you I got you. Okay, so I'll pick up sandwiches from a deli nearby and see you… where r u? Need help getting back to your dorm?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm in my dorm dw. And thanks again. I'll pay you back when you get here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred: you srsly don't need to. Trust me. If it's food or comics I don't mind paying.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Okay.</em>
</p><p>I set aside ten bucks for him anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Fred: be there in like 10.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good luck stay safe</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred: aw thanks bro! U too.</em>
</p><p>I close my eyes, just to rest them a little. Save my energy.</p><p>I wake up to the smell of food and Fred shaking my shoulder.</p><p>"Hm?" I push myself up into a seating position, legs over the edge of the bed. Spooky is placed on the pillow, where I most definitely did not leave her.</p><p>"Oh, your owl was on the floor so I put them back on the bed."</p><p>"Oh. Thanks." Fred hands me a sandwich. I pass him the ten bucks and he shakes his head.</p><p>"I wasn't kidding. Unless you're actively borrowing money I really don't need to be paid back."</p><p>"At least take a five?"</p><p>"...Fine." He takes the ten and gives me back a five from his wallet. I open the sandwich. Ham, cheese, and lettuce. "Forgot to ask if you had any preferences, so I just got something simple. Hope you don't mind." The bread's a little toasted but I ignore that There's enough stuff in it to distract from the taste of toasted bread.</p><p>"This looks perfect, thanks." I nibble a few bites and look at the floor. "Thanks again. Um…" I scratch my neck with my free hand, "my mom was worried that I wouldn't eat since I'm just so tired… So you really did me and my mom a solid."</p><p>"No problem." He eats his… <em>decorated</em> sandwich, with so many condiments and ingredients even looking at it feels too intense for me.</p><p>"I don't want to be nosy, but you really don't mind? Like, buying food, meeting me here, slowing down so I can keep up with you…" Fred cocks his head.</p><p>"Why would I? It'd be weird if I <em>did</em>." He scratches his arm and coughs. "I mean, not helping when it's not even hard to help is kind of an asshole move, y'know?" Despite myself, I smile.</p><p>"You're a good guy, Fred."</p><p>"<em>Greatest</em> guy, actually," he says then snorts. "Still, thanks. It's just being a decent person though, so save the compliment for when I do something absolutely awesome. How's the sandwich?"</p><p>"It's great. You know so many good food places."</p><p>"Maybe <em>that's</em> my superpower," he says. "Finding good food. You think that's a valid superpower?"</p><p>"About as valid as any other." We keep chatting throughout our lunch. Fred opens the window when we're done eating.</p><p>"So that way Wasabi doesn't talk your ear off about the sandwich smell." He sits back down and spins in my chair. He digs his heels onto the floor and looks at the floor where one of my canes rests. "Wait, you have ghost stickers too?"</p><p>"I have two canes," I explain, kicking up the one he's looking at so I can grab it and show it to him. "This one's my main one. I've had it since…" I bite my lip. "I think it's almost two years now? The NASA one is foldable and in my bag in case of emergencies. My friend Sam got it for me as a college acceptance gift."</p><p>"That's so cool," he says.</p><p>I make a relieved noise and grin.</p><p>"I know, right?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tried my best but it has been a while (my editing isn't that great either courtesy of Pain being Distracting).<br/>Also, the longer I think about Fred's.... laundry tendencies, the more I wonder how bad this man's ringworm is because he definitely has ringworm, right? Tight clothes that don't look too breathable (it looks like 80% cotton 20% spandex yknow??) he goes months without washing?????<br/>Anyway, I love y'all and will see y'all around. Take care.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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